


You And I (Were Made For This)

by ShadowsLament



Series: the Restoration verse [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsLament/pseuds/ShadowsLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a masked charity ball, Tony's possessive nature is tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You And I (Were Made For This)

**Author's Note:**

> From "[Living With Your Ghosts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/403917)":
> 
> _“You were--God, Tony,” Steve said, his hips shifting, seeking, as Tony trailed his lips down his jaw, latching onto the swift throb of his pulse, teasing the flushed skin there with his teeth. “I don’t--Were you jealous?”_
> 
> _“Yes. Not like that one time..."_
> 
> This is that one time.
> 
> (Also? Too many personal things going on while I was writing this, so I'm going to resist the urge to continue to edit the hell out of it after it's posted. I'll slap my own hand if I have to.) (But, ah, if you notice any changes...)
> 
> Title taken from Civil Twilight's "Letters From The Sky"

“I’m outside, Barton, about to be in. Fury didn’t include a clause requiring me to stay.” Tossing his keys to the valet, Tony noticed the archer lounging against one of the marble columns that stood sentry at the hotel’s entrance. Jet black leather jacket open at the throat, Clint had folded the wide lapels back and away, framing the line of his clavicle. The tooled leather mask he wore stretched across his brow like spread wings, shading his eyes, the trailing edges spearing seamlessly into the hair at his temples. “The call was enough, sweetheart. You didn’t have to meet me on the steps too.” Tony pocketed his phone as Clint swung the glass-paneled door open for him. “Or have you taken a second job as a bellman? Does Coulson know? He frowns on that type of--”

“Did you forget your mask,” Clint asked, “or finally realize your face is enough to frighten small children and domestic animals?”

“Tell me again: How many times were you voted sexiest man alive? At last count, I--”

“The voting public’s gotta be blind.” Clint’s lips twitched. “Besides, Steve’s giving your sexiest-man-alive-ass a run for its money tonight.” Relieving Tony of the mask dangling from his fingers, Clint carefully fit it over Tony’s face; he wound the silk ties around his head, knotting them tightly, and nodded. “Looks good. And before you ask, he’s not mad you’re late.”

“Of course he’s not.” Passing an ornate urn of sweet-scented flowers, Tony snagged a bloom and snapped it off. “Because I’m always late. Steve’s a strategist; good with patterns.” Threading the stem through the buttonhole beneath the elaborate fold of his jacket’s oversized collar, he followed Clint to the elevator. “Plus, and you may not have noticed this because we are nothing if not subtle, he’s infatuated with me. Tolerance is a wonderful thing. Except, of course, when I’m the one who--”

“The only thing Stark and subtle have in common is a first letter,” Clint cut in. “So, yeah, we’ve noticed. And we’re happy for you both. But...He’s good to you, right?”

Swallowing around the swell in his throat, Tony stepped back, let the masked occupants of the elevator trail out before moving in after Clint; borrowing time to find his stride on an unfamiliar path. “Don’t you mean am I--”

“If I had,” Clint jabbed the button for their floor with a bent knuckle, “that’s how I would’ve said it.” 

“You’re asking me if Steve, of all people--”

“Yes.”

“He’s-” Tony lifted one shoulder, helpless to explain the intangible shift of his heart at the thought of him; the way Steve’s quiet, unyielding presence challenged his uncertainty, his fear “-yeah.”

Clint studied him, weighing the simplicity of his answer against his expression, his posture, looking for a tell that might betray his assurance. “If that ever changes, no matter the reason,” Clint reached out, adjusted the flower at Tony’s lapel, “you let me know.”

“It won’t.”

“No. I suspect it won’t. Which reminds me: I need to ask Steve how he does it. Talking to you is like pulling an arrow from muscle and bone. It might be possible, but it’s not--”

Tony grinned, grateful. “Talking? Who’s talking? He keeps my mouth occupied with other--”

“No details, Stark. I already know too much.” Bolting through the doors as they parted, Clint added, “Despite that, try not to go into cardiac arrest when you see Steve. That wouldn’t be good now that you’ve grown on me.”

“Pretty words, Barton, but they won’t work. I’m taken. Weren’t you listening--”

Clint cut him off with his middle finger, padding down the stairs that led to the dance floor; the archer disappeared into the crowd clustered in the center of the ballroom, moving to a thick beat, insistent as a throbbing pulse, leaving Tony to his own devices and the discomfort that came with stepping into a scene that fit like an old, cheap suit.

Tony set his hip against the balustrade, a reluctant observer confronted with the memory of other evenings and similar company, the intimacy that was as much a lie as the manners and masks the people around him wore. He understood their motivation: desire - for money or power, or for a partner whose singular conversation consisted of nails on slick skin. He knew how to use it to his advantage; how to find the breach in weakening defenses and widen it with idle flirtation. He took what was offered and, without exception, cut the threads twisted by that desire before the sun rose. 

He didn’t miss it, any of it, or feel the least bit of regret that those days were long gone. That he was bound now; his nights spent in strong arms, caught between long legs; trading lazy, lush kisses with the man who tied him tighter with every word, every smile. 

Setting the past aside, Tony moved over the strays on the outskirts and found Thor. His mask, silver etched with white lightning, drew attention to the wide, unfettered grin he directed at a table laden with desserts. Clint and Natasha stood nearby; heads bent together, talking intently. Bruce, at the table behind them, tapped a chewed ballpoint pen on the white linen napkin in front of him; specks of cobalt creating new constellations he’d no doubt name later, once he realized he was responsible for them.

And then there was Steve.

His mask, drenched in crimson and gold harlequin diamonds, reflected the candlelight as he searched the room, his head tracking up. When he found what he was looking for, Steve’s smile - fierce, almost predatory in its joy - lanced Tony’s stomach, freeing the thing with wings that lived there.

Denying Clint’s request as Steve cut through the crowd, holding his eyes, Tony’s heart stuttered, pounding with furious intent when it remembered the purpose it served. Through the layers he wore, he tapped the reactor to assure himself it was there; that his lungs, laboring under an abrupt lack of air, weren’t shutting down as a result of a malfunction.

“No,” Tony murmured as Steve drew closer, “I’m good. I’m--” he raked his gaze up the white trousers that clung to Steve’s thighs - “screwed.” Steve had elected to leave off buttoning his shirt over his chest; the white woven cloth gaped open, baring the slope of muscle Tony laid his head on when he shoved through the sheets to find Steve warm and waiting. “Keep my hands to myself, Fury says.” When they itched to slip beneath the heavy camel coat Steve wore, rippling behind him with every step, brushing his boots where they topped off just below the bend of his knees; to push it off the broad curve of his shoulders, clearly defined by the cashmere Tony was willing to bet wound through the material. “Fuck that. Fury can--”

Vaulting the stairs two at a time, Steve quickly covered the distance between them. “You’re late.”

“I have it on reliable authority that you’re not mad.” Tony crossed the remaining steps and tilted his head up, licking his lips, as Steve lowered his. “Did you miss me? It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t; it’s got to be both of us doing the missing, or neither of us, and I missed you.”

“Next time you have a Board meeting, I’ll wait in your office. I don’t care how long it goes.”

“That’s a--”

“Yes,” Steve breathed, tracing Tony’s mask with his eyes. His fingers followed, suspended over the path his gaze roamed. “I missed you.”

“Good. That’s good,” Tony said. “Why aren’t you kissing me?”

“Because you both assured Fury you’d behave,” Coulson answered. “And there’s someone who would like to speak with Captain Rogers.” 

Huffing out a sigh, Tony leaned around Steve; the agent stood just behind him, his arms folded across his chest. “Can’t it wait--”

“It can’t.”

“I’ll find you after.” Steve’s lips on Tony’s were soft as a whisper, light as air. Tony felt the kiss like fire, burning in his blood. Hooking a finger through Steve’s belt loop, he followed when Steve lifted his head. “Tony, I...I can’t walk away with you looking at me like that.”

“So don’t. I don’t want you to.” 

Coulson coughed; an obvious, exaggerated burst of sound that earned a glare from Tony, a quiet snicker from Steve.

“Later,” Steve promised. “We’ll hide in a dark corner somewhere.”

“Fine. Go.” Tony slid his finger free of the loop and drew it down the zipper with slow intent. “So you can come.” Gratified by the aroused flush crawling up Steve’s throat, Tony stepped away from him and made his way to the stairs, pausing next to Coulson. “He’s all yours, Agent. But - here’s the thing - I wouldn’t keep him long.” Descending, he tossed over his shoulder, “You want me to have something to do with my hands, Coulson. I think we’d both rather it be Steve.”

Tony kept to the edge of the dance floor, ignoring the covetous stares that stripped him, leaving nothing behind but the money in his pocket. He leveled a condescending grin on those that approached him, shaking off invitations to dance, to drink, to forgo both in favor of a private room and king-sized bed. As Tony turned each one down, he felt the heat of Steve’s gaze pursuing him, stoking the fire he’d ignited with his kiss.

He joined his team at their table. “Remind me why we’re here again?” 

“Charity. So Fury would have us believe.” Rolling the stem of a crystal flute between her fingers, Natasha shrugged. “We all have things we’d rather be doing, Stark.”

Tony arched his eyebrow sharply. “Does your thing look like a sexy, debauched highwayman? Because right about now I’m more than willing to let my thing rob me of my--” 

“Nice to see your ticker held up under the strain.” Clint slid his full coffee cup across the table. “I thought for sure we’d find you on the floor in a dead faint.”

“If you were so concerned, you might have mentioned the buttons.” Tony lifted the cup and sniffed; the aromatic steam filtered through his nose, rich and pungent. “Or the lack thereof.”

“You have Pepper to thank for that,” Natasha informed him. “And those pants. Flowers would be a start.”

“I’ll buy her a nursery. Tulips.”

“Roses. Osiria or Damask.”

“I knew that.”

“What is Thor doing?” Bruce asked, shifting their focus to their teammate’s unrestrained gesturing. “Is that--”

“An impression of a toaster? Yup,” Tony confirmed. “But I like my question better. Who is that?” He nodded at the fair-haired man talking to Steve, his palm pressing the coat into the bow of Steve’s back, fingers splayed over the firm curve of his ass. “And why is he feeling up my...Steve?”

“Can’t tell with the mask,” Clint said, “but whoever he is, he’s got balls. If his hand drops any lower, Steve’s going to break it. Unless...How fast can you run, Stark?”

“Hill let it slip that a Council member could be in attendance tonight.” Natasha considered the two men. “If that’s him, Coulson _would_ choose Steve to represent us.”

“That makes sense. Sure,” Bruce agreed. “But it’s the part where the guy seems to think we’re an escort service that’s throwing me.”

Tony’s narrow glare shifted from the man’s chest, flush against Steve’s biceps, to the fingers that curled, tightening their grip on the supple swell Tony’s nails had dug into the night before, scoring broken crescents into taut skin as Steve rose and fell above him, rolling his hips when Tony was buried as deep as their bodies would allow. 

His chair tipped and struck the ground with a curt clatter that snapped his teammate’s attention back to him. Tony moved around the table as Steve jerked away, his lush mouth drawn, a tempest brewing in the furious dark of his eyes, in the angry color flooding his face.

“Tony.” Natasha caught his sleeve. “If he’s a Councilman--”

“No one touches him.” Tony was the calm to Steve’s storm; the potential for violence dancing at the edge of his measured tone. “Not like that. Not ever.”

“Tash.” Clint laid his arm across the back of her chair. “Let go.”

“Alright, but--” 

Her reservations were silenced by the denials that stalked Tony across the floor. 

Steve saw him coming and assured his welcome with a slow curl of his lips; his anger melting into something hotter, something that courted the possessive, purring rage coiled in Tony’s chest. He grabbed the man’s hand before it circled Steve’s wrist. “Tony Stark.” He flashed a brilliant smile; a thinly veiled threat. “And you are?”

Shifting to stand beside him, Steve offered a clipped introduction. “Rathburn. Lu--”

“Not in need of additional company,” Rathburn returned. “Captain Rogers will do me just fine.”

“That’s a shame. Truly. Because Steve’s already doing me.” Tony dropped his smile; the pretense. “And I don’t share.” Jerking on the hand he’d yet to release, Tony cocked his head as Rathburn’s breath, hissing through clenched teeth, glanced off his cheek. “To be perfectly, unquestionably clear: he’s with me. I won’t tell you again to stay the fuck away from him.” Tony let go abruptly and stepped back. He gestured for Steve to precede him. “Love? If you would.”

Tony wrenched away when Steve reached for him. “Don’t.”

“Tony, I wouldn’t have--”

“I know,” he snapped. “I _know_ that, Steve.”

“Then why won’t you let me--”

“If you do, I--” Tony rolled his neck; tried to relieve the tension that held his spine stiff, set to shatter at a hint of contact. Retreating to the French doors at the far end of the ballroom, he forced them open, paced to the balcony’s railing.

“Ton--”

“I can’t see someone else’s hands on you.” Tony moved into Steve, driving him back, against the wall. “I can’t. It--” Tony tore at Steve’s belt, the button, yanked the zipper down. “Steve--” Dropping to his knees, Tony shoved Steve’s shirt up, kissed the tight ridge of his abdomen. Dragging his teeth down quivering muscle, he freed Steve’s cock from the tight confines of his trousers.

Steve groaned. Rending the knot, he tossed Tony’s mask away. “I want to see your face.”

“You’re not the only one-” Raking his fingertips up the inside of Steve’s thighs, along his hips, Tony jerked him forward “-who might see me. What I’m going to do to--”

“Let them.”

Licking into Steve’s navel, Tony kept his grip loose, sweeping up the length of Steve’s cock slowly, twisting his wrist before stroking back down. Teasing when he wanted to take. To claim. “I was made for this. For you. And you--” Tony tightened his hold, increased the pressure; he heard a sharp cry, felt Steve’s hands shift. His nostrils flared, scenting blood: Steve’s blood, smeared across Tony’s cheek as his fingers skidded on the bone, seeking Tony’s hair, shoving into the thick strands like an anchor digging into sand. It was on the brick, too; dark stains where Steve had tried to find a grip, something he could hold onto. Tony growled; a deep, rough snarl of sound muted by Steve’s trousers as Tony pressed his forehead to Steve’s hip, the heat of his cock drying the blood on Tony’s skin, a streak of war paint in a battle that had only just begun.

“See this?” Tony asked, angling his face to let the light from the glass door spill across it. He sought Steve’s eyes in the shadows his mask cast like black kohl around the depthless, blazing blue. “Your blood?” Gripping Steve’s wrist, Tony dragged his hand from his hair. “All of it's mine.” Tony slid Steve’s finger in his mouth; curling his tongue where it pressed snug against the knuckle, he drew back on it, tasting the blood caught in the fine lines, rich and warm and more precious than any metal. Tony grazed the smooth pad with his teeth before letting his finger slip free, glistening wet and trembling. “And this-” Tony yanked the opening of Steve’s trousers wider, ripping the zipper “-if you ever - _ever_ , Steve - think of letting someone else touch it, touch you-” Tony jerked his fist up and drove it back down; he watched Steve’s head fall back against the brick, his mouth parting as Tony quickened his rhythm “-I will _hurt_ him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Steve gasped. “Yes. I wouldn’t. You...The only one--” Tony blew on the flushed head of Steve’s erection; his breath an explosion of heat in the cool night air. “ _Fuck_.” 

“That’s it, love.” Tony claimed the hand that wasn’t clenched in his hair, laced their fingers together. “Swear for me. I want to hear you moan and beg. All for me.”

“Tony, please.” Steve canted his hips; his cock brushed Tony’s lips. “Please.”

“Tell me,” Tony demanded, swiping his tongue across the seeping slit. “Or I’ll have to make it up as I go. Should I maybe start by swallow--”

Tightening his hold, he urged Tony’s head closer, until his cock breached the seam of his mouth. “Take it. All of it.”

Tony dug his nails into Steve’s hips and rode out the tremor those words provoked. 

Pressing forward slowly, he filled his mouth with the heady flavor and scorching warmth of Steve’s cock an inch at a time; relishing the sibilant sounds that poured from his lover’s lips as Tony took him deeper. He paused when he reached the root; his moan blended with Steve’s, louder than the litany of thoughts - all the things he wanted to do to Steve; all of the ways he would brand him - playing through his mind.

“I can’t--I have to--” Steve’s words choked off as Tony began to move, easing off his cock until only the head remained, trapped by his teeth and gentle pressure. He sunk back down, flattening his tongue to take as much as he could, as quickly as he could, and was rewarded with a sharp tug on his hair, a reverent prayer offered in the form of his name. Hollowing his cheeks, Tony alternated his pace: slow sweeps and swift thrusts echoed by Steve’s hips. “Christ, Tony. You’re going to make me come. Too soon.” 

Tony responded by swallowing; the tight grip of his throat relaxing and tensing around Steve’s cock, driving a sharp cry from Steve’s lips, compelling Tony to tear at the button and zipper of his own pants. Squeezing the strip just below the tip, turning back the orgasm building with the stimulation of Steve’s wrecked voice, Tony increased his pace, dragging his tongue along Steve’s length as he withdrew, humming around him when Steve was balls-deep and snug in his mouth.

Clenching Tony’s hand, Steve ground their fingers together, his breathing sharp and rapid; his attention fixed on Tony’s mouth, on the slick sheen that coated his cock when Tony slid back on it. Drawing his lashes up, Steve held Tony’s eyes as he came, biting his lip to silence his hoarse shout. 

Kneading his hip, Tony eased off and laved the come that clung to the head. Steve’s contented sigh followed him as he sat back, resting on his haunches.

“Tony,” Steve brushed sweat-tangled hair from Tony’s forehead, “that was--”

“We’re not done,” Tony told him. “I’m not done with you.” Closing his pants over his erection, Tony shuddered at the pressure. He scraped his palm against the stone floor, releasing the breath he held as pain bit through the pleasure, holding it at bay a little longer. “I need to fuck you. I need--You’re going to feel me after, later, when we’re making love and you’re inside of me; you’re going to feel it like I’m pounding into you still.” Tony stood. “I want you to remember where you belong. And who wants you more than his next breath.”

“I know exactly where I belong.” Steve wound an arm around Tony’s waist and hauled him close. “And who I need.” Reversing their positions, Steve pinned Tony’s body to the wall. “If one more person looked at you tonight, Tony, wanting what’s mine...I-” he shook his head “-I couldn’t stand it. If you hadn’t come for me first--”

“I’ll always come for you. Alw--”

Steve caught Tony’s mouth in a bruising kiss; his lips demanding a response as ferocious as his attack, his tongue licking inside as need took the reigns from control and finesse. 

Tony fisted Steve’s shirt under the coat and held on. “Love,” he panted, “we should--I’m close. Do you want to be bent over that railing? I refuse to come until--”

“Home.” Steve’s lips drifted to Tony’s cheek and trailed down, following the narrow line of his beard to his ear; he teased the lobe with teeth and tongue before continuing his descent, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along the column of Tony’s throat. “We need to go home. So you can fuck me. I want to feel you, Tony. Hard and deep; moving inside of me.”

“The sooner, the better.” He pushed at Steve’s shoulder. “So let’s go.”

Steve tried and failed to get his zipper back in place. “What did you do to it?”

“Is that a complaint?” Tony asked, retrieving his mask. “Because you weren’t complaining when you were coming down my throat, and that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t ripped--”

“Stop,” Steve’s chest rose on a deep, forced exhalation, “or we won’t make it to the car. I’ll ride you into the floor--”

“Button your coat over it,” Tony said, slapping Steve’s fingers away to do it himself, “and try to keep up.”

Taking Steve’s hand, Tony shoved through the door and the throng of partygoers blocking their route to the exit. Behind him, Steve laughed; Tony heard it like an infectious hook of music, and felt an answering chuckle build, fueled by the giddy sensation that rode his chest. “What are we? Fucking sixteen years old and on our first date?”

“Thank God, no,” Steve answered, happiness a thick note scoring his voice. “I’m counting on your experience and stamina to see us through the morning.”

“Who’s stopping then? You? Because I--” Tony tried to tow Steve around a couple drunkenly swaying in front of him, matching each attempt he made to dodge them. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he told the flustered man, “you’re going to go left, and I’m not going to punch you in the face for delaying me from having what promises to be the best sex of my life so far. Got it? Good. On three. One, two-- _Move_.” They scattered, one to either side of him, and Tony plunged through the gap. “This would be so much easier in the suit.”

“I could--”

“I will get us out of here, Steve. If I have to--” 

“There’s blood on your face, Stark.” Materializing at Tony’s elbow, Clint darted a questioning look between him and Steve. “My bow’s at the coat check.”

“Why has no one put a bell on you?” Tony caught the quirk of Clint’s lips peripherally and kept walking. “Hey, what’s the archer’s equivalent to being trigger-happy? Arrow-easy? That’s it. I like it. The blood’s not mine, by the way. And it was put there willingly. I think it might honest-to-God pain me to say this, but...Thank you.”

Clint nodded. “Want me to make your excuses?”

“Want to be my best friend for life?”

“Not really,” Clint said, “but I’ll do it anyway.”

“Your crush on me is adorable.” Tony hit the stairs, Steve on his heels, while Clint lingered at the edge of the dance floor. “Good night, Barton.”

“Night, Tony,” Clint echoed. “Don’t do anything that will result in your one phone call being sent to my voicemail. G’night, Steve.”

“Make sure Thor stays out of trouble.” Steve waited until they put the lobby behind them. “That was...interesting. If unsurprising.” 

“Meaning?” Tony passed his ticket and several hundred dollar bills to the valet. “There’s more if you make it quick.”

“It means I’m glad he’s looking out for you.”

“I don’t--Maybe--Why are we talking about Barton?”

“Because-” Steve crowded Tony against the column he had spotted Clint holding up earlier “-the alternative involves fewer clothes, and Fury might not be able to spin a public burlesque show starring the Avengers’ team leaders.”

“Burlesque?” Tony nipped Steve’s swollen lower lip. “We should discuss how you spent your free time during the war. Or you could show me. For the record, I’m for option two.”

Steve nuzzled into Tony’s neck. “I think I can manage--”

“Mr. Stark?” The valet stood next to the open passenger side door. “Your, um, car. Sir.”

“Good man, Speedy.” Tony arched into Steve’s touch, acknowledging the promise it conveyed, before he pulled away. “Can I call you Speedy?” 

“The name’s Tommy, but sure,” he said, patting the vest pocket Tony slipped another hundred in. “For that, you can call me whatever you want. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure thing.” Tony slid into the driver’s seat. “Buckle up for safety, Steve.”

“But then I couldn’t do this.” Steve leaned across the center console as Tony pulled away from the curb and palmed his cock. “Faster.” He moved with Tony as he rolled his hips, bucking up into his hand. “Drive faster.”

“I’m... _fuck_...already speeding. Aren’t you supposed to be-” Tony tightened his hold on the steering wheel “-chief among law abiding citizens?”

“It scares me sometimes,” Steve admitted softly. “How many laws I’d break for you.”

“You can’t just say--” Tony swallowed. “There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you.” He looked at Steve. “You know that, right?”

“Get us home.” Steve worked his hand between Tony’s legs; he traced the seam that bisected the seat of Tony’s pants. “And prove it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's costume? Absolutely and blatantly based on [this](http://www.gq.com/images/style/2011/07/chris-evans/chris-evans-july-08.jpg).


End file.
